


Time Brings All Things To Pass

by OrmondSacker



Series: The Doctor Who Fell From the Wormhole [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Character Study, Fluff, Gen, Identity Issues, M/M, pre-culmets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:20:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27012658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrmondSacker/pseuds/OrmondSacker
Summary: When lieutenants Stamets and Dax rescues an unconscious man from the wormhole, found adrift inside without either shuttle or spacesuit, it is believed that the man himself can provide answers to his mysterious appearance. But when he wakes the man remembers only one thing, his name: Hugh Culber.
Relationships: Hugh Culber & Jadzia Dax, Hugh Culber & Paul Stamets, Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets
Series: The Doctor Who Fell From the Wormhole [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2075241
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15
Collections: Culmets Celebration 2020





	Time Brings All Things To Pass

Warm. Cold. Warm. Hard rough surface under his hands, against his body. Cold again. Then warm. Something touching him. Hands? 

Then nothing. 

Soft familiar yet unfamiliar beeps penetrate his consciousness. Voice talking next to him, a man and a woman. Another man’s voice joins them. Then again, nothing. 

Everything _hurts_ , just breathing is painful. He jerks, tries to escape. A voice, a man’s, soothing. A pinprick. Nothing again. 

A soft, malleable surface beneath him. The familiar smell of cleansed, recycled air. Beep and whir of electronic devices. A starship? A starbase?. 

He tries to open his eyes but they feel stuck. 

“Easy,” a man’s voice says near him, footsteps approaching. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal. Just lie back and relax. You’re safe.” 

Finally he gets his eyes to open and he can see the blurry shape of a lankily built man, with a longish face standing over him. The man puts his hand on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. 

“My name is Julian Bashir and I’m the CMO here on Deep Space 9.” 

Deep Space 9? Starbase then, but the name doesn't sound familiar. 

“Do you feel up to telling how you’re feeling?” 

“Not sure,” he drawls, his voices is slurred like he’s drunk, but he doesn’t feel drunk. 

“I’m afraid I had to sedate you for a bit. You were getting quite agitated but we couldn’t communicate with you. It should be wearing off.” 

He nods. Yes, that’s the usual procedure with a patient like that. 

“I understand.” 

He feels more and more in command of himself as the seconds tick by, his voice is getting stronger too. 

“Do you? Could you tell me who you are?” 

“I’m Hugh Culber and I-” 

Hugh breaks off, not sure how to continue. He knows his name, he’s certain that it is his name, but he can’t think of anything else. It’s like a big, blank space in his mind. 

“I’m not sure. I- I don’t recall,” Hugh finishes. 

He’s spent two days in sickbay awake and according to doctor Bashir another three before that unconscious after a research team had found him, adrift, in the wormhole. He had not been wearing a space suit, but then space inside the wormhole doesn't always conform to the rules of regular space, or so Hugh has been told. 

In those two days he has been left alone by the rest of the crew, by Bashir’s orders. The doctor had hoped that some peace and quiet would help restore Hugh’s memory, but so far it had been without success. So in the end Bashir had permitted visitors, the first of them being the station’s commander, Sisko, whom Hugh guess has a lot of questions to ask him. Questions Hugh knows he’ll be no more able to answer than those that Bashir had asked him. 

Hugh isn’t sure what he had expected commander Sisko to be like, but certainly not the genial and gently smiling man that greets him in the Infirmary's small office that Bashir has lent them to purpose of this visit. 

“Mr Culber, please sit down.” 

Sisko gestures to the guest chair and Hugh sits down. 

“How is doctor Bashir treating you?” Sisko asks. 

“Very well. He seems competent.” 

Over the past couple of days Hugh has found that for some reason his mind keeps running an evaluation of Bashir’s medical treatment of him, not all of it something he’s agreed with but the man always had a good reason for doing what he was doing when Hugh asked him. 

“Know a lot about medicine?” 

“Maybe. I’m not sure. I’m sure doctor Bashir told you that I don’t remember anything.” 

“Apart from your own name.” 

“Correct.” 

“I had hoped you could shed some light on the circumstances you were found under.” 

Hugh nods. 

“I understand. Bashir told me a little and they sound extraordinary.” 

“To say the least. I had a devil of a time convincing Starfleet of the truth, even with the logs to back it up.” 

“I can imagine, they can be quite...” 

Hugh’s voice trails off, a memory teases at the edge of his mind but he can't quite reach it. 

“Quite what?” Sisko prompts. 

“I don’t know.” 

“You sounded like you were familiar with Starfleet.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t know. Maybe. In some way it feels familiar, but I can’t tell you how or why.” 

“We’ll file it away for our search for you. Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to determine your identity. There doesn’t appear to be any Hugh Culber missing among Federation citizens, but you could be from a distant colony. Or the Demilitarized Zone.” 

“The Demilitarized Zone?” 

“Between Cardassian space and Federation space?” 

Hugh shakes his head. None of this ring any bells. 

“Well, if you can’t remember, you can’t. In that case I think I can welcome you on to Deep Space Nine properly. Unless you have any objection we’ll assign you some quarters in the Habitation Ring and you’ll have free reign of the station like any other civilian.” 

“That’s it?” 

“Did you expect more?” 

“I guess I expected more questions.” 

“I have them, believe me. But Julian gave me strict orders not to push too hard. It’s more likely to do harm than good to your memory. Hopefully it’ll come back in time.” 

“And if it doesn’t? I can’t stay here indefinitely can I?” 

“One day at the time mr Culber. We haven’t given up our search for you, something may yet appear. For now I suggest you get settled in your quarters and familiarize yourself with the station. And I’m sure doctor Bashir has more suggestions for you about your recovery.” 

Sisko gets to his feet and Hugh follows suit, and when Sisko holds out his hand Hugh takes it. 

“Welcome on board, mr Culber,” Sisko says. 

“Thank you, Commander.” 

One week to the day of his meeting with commander Sisko, Hugh finds himself at the Replimat on the Promenade. Even in the few days that has passed he has developed a form of routine. 

He will get up at around 0600 hours, eat breakfast in his own quarters then go to the gym. According to Bashir his body is in exceptionally good condition for a man his age and Hugh feels he had better take care of that, not to mention that exercise makes him feel calmer and gives him something to do with the restless energy he always wakes with. After a quick shower he’d move on to what he has taken to call “his studies”. He reads, anything and everything is the space stations library. Much of it is medical literature, it seems he has some prior knowledge of the subject at least he has no trouble understanding much of it, though many things feel new and foreign to him too. But he’ll read anything, fiction, history, sociological text, anything he feels like at that moment. 

That takes up his time until the late afternoon and lunch, at which time he’ll walk to the Replimat and eat. Just like he is now. He's just finishing off the last bit of a ratamba stew, he’s been trying out the local Bajoran cuisine and has found he likes it, and is considering whether he should have a desert or just grab a cup of coffee and go back to his quarter, or do something else altogether, when a young alien woman approaches his table. 

“Is this seat taken?” she asks him, indicating the chair opposite his. 

He’s been waiting for something like this. While no one had yet approached him openly he had a feeling word of him had begun to spread around the station. It’s a bit hard to keep a secret when someone practically drops out of the wormhole, a place he has learned that has a great deal of significance for the Bajoran people. So he had been expecting someone to approach him, though he hadn’t expected a woman who clearly wasn’t a Bajoran to be the first one, but maybe she’s just more curious than most. 

“It isn’t,” he answers. “Though I was just about done with lunch.” That leaves him an out if the conversation becomes too awkward. 

“Oh I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I just wanted to ask how you are and say hello, properly this time.” 

“Properly?” 

Does she know him from somewhere? He can feel his heartrate pick up. 

“Only the wormhole. You practically landed in mine and lieutenant Stamets’ lap.” 

The stab of disappointment he feels is far more acute than he would have imagined it would be. 

“Ah yes, lieutenant Dax correct?” he asks, keeping a smile on his face. It’s not her fault he had misunderstood her words. 

“So you do remember me?” 

“I’m afraid not. Doctor Bashir told me the names of my rescuers but I don't remember much of anything before waking up in the Infirmary.” 

“So I heard. How are you doing apart from the memory loss? I don't mind telling you, your arrival is quite the topic of gossip among the staff.” 

Hugh laughs. 

“Yes and officers tend to be worse gossips than the enlisted.” 

The words leaves his mouth without thinking but when he's said them he frowns. How does he know that? 

“Are you an officer?” Dax asks him. 

“I don't know. Maybe. It feels like something I just knew, but I can't tell you from where.” 

“I think you should tell Julian, it could help him track down who you are.” 

“I will. Speaking of tracking down, do you know where I could find lieutenant Stamets. You've conveniently given me the opportunity to thank you yourself but I haven't much luck in finding either of you so far.” 

“You can usually find him in the research garden on level five of the docking ring, he spends most of his time there when he isn’t sleeping. And sometimes when he is.” 

They both laugh. 

“Thank you for telling me. And thank you for saving my life.” 

“All part of a day’s duty.” 

It takes several days for Hugh to find the courage to seek out lieutenant Stamets. He had hopes to come across him in the corridors of the habitation ring or eating at one of the establishments on the Promenade like with Dax, but he has no such luck and seeking him out feels awkward. But it becomes apparent to Hugh that that is what he’ll have to do if he wants to thank him because not saying thank you to a person he knows he owes his life feels even worse. 

So late in the afternoon three days after talking to Dax, Hugh does go to the research garden located in a discontinued docking bay in pylon four. Since the garden is strictly under Starfleets jurisdiction the door to it is locked. Hugh sounds the ringer but nothing happens. He does it again with the same lack of result. 

Maybe Stamets isn’t in there at all? It would be just Hugh’s luck to pick the one time the man isn’t in there to come look for him. He tries a third time but when there still is no response he slowly turns and walks away. 

The next morning Hugh decides to have breakfast in the Replimat instead of at home for a change. Until now he has preferred to start his day in private before facing the world, but last night he felt a deep, overwhelming loneliness that kept him sleeping fitfully throughout the night and he hopes that perhaps having people around him will help dispel it. 

He has ordered a light meal and have begun eating when he without realizing it starts humming to himself. In his quest to learn as much as he can until he gets his memory back, he has been looking into arts as well as science and one of the artforms that he found appealed to him is opera. The other night he had stumbled over a Klingon version of an aria he had come to love, intrigued he had put it on and since then he had been unable to get it out of his head. So too this morning. 

Sipping his coffee Hugh tries to recapture the sound of the chorus that’s running on repeat in his head, out loud. 

“Oh shut up or sit somewhere else!” a male voice says. 

It takes Hugh a moment to realize that the irate comment is aimed at him. Turning towards where the voice was coming from, he sees a man with hair so blond it looks white, wearing a Starfleet science uniform turning his head back towards the padd he had been reading on before making his comment. 

On any other day Hugh would have grabbed his coat and left the place. The man might have some reason to be irritable today or he might just be so by disposition, but generally Hugh doesn’t feel the need to get into needless arguments over something as trivial as this. But this morning he’s feeling irascible himself so while he does get up and does grab his coat it is only to go to the blond-haired man’s table, pull out the chair opposite him and sit down. 

The man looks up from his padd, an annoyed looked on his face turning stunned when he sees Hugh. Hugh smiles sweetly at him. 

“You did tell me to sit somewhere else,” he says mildly. 

“Yes I- I'm so sorry, I didn’t mean- I was trying to concentrate on this and...” 

So perhaps irritable is not this man’s normal state. Good, he looks kind of cute. 

“My humming disturbed you?” 

“I don’t like opera.” 

“You've got terrible taste in music. But you know it enough to recognize it and knowing it is the first step to loving it.” 

“We have a Klingon chef on the station, let's say it’s impossible not to know. Opera aficionado, are you?” 

“I think so.” 

“You _think_ so?” 

“Yes. I _think_ so.” For a moment Hugh intends to leave it there but then he hears himself say, “I don’t remember anything until I woke in the Infirmary last week.” 

“Nothing?” 

“Nothing.” 

“That must be difficult. I guess you don’t remember me either then.” 

“Should I?” 

“I was one of the two people on board the Ganges when you were... discovered.” 

“So _you’re_ Stamets,” Hugh says with a chuckle. “I’ve been trying to find you to say thank you but if I had known you had such poor taste in music, I’m not sure I would have bothered.” 

Stamets huffs, looking a little bit embarrassed making Hugh wonder if perhaps his words were too harsh. 

“So what do interest you, if not opera?” he asks, hoping to smooth things over. 

“Mushrooms.” 

If Stamets had looked any less sincere and forthright Hugh might have laughed at that, out of sheer surprise if nothing else. 

“Mushrooms? Which kind, the ones you eat for dinner or the ones you eat for other reasons? Or are you trying to poison someone because there are several other easier and more reliable ways to do that if that’s your goal.” 

“You’d help me commit murder?” 

"Poisoning someone doesn’t necessarily mean killing them. Willfully and knowingly inducing an allergic reaction would also constitute poisoning someone. Or inducing vomiting.” 

“You sound like a doctor.” 

“I do, don’t I. But you haven’t told me what’s so fascinating about mushrooms.” 

Stamets lights up at the question. 

“How long do you have?” he asks. 

“I have some time if you’re interested in telling me.” 

“You mean that?” 

Stamets looks uncertain and shy all of a sudden. 

“Yes. You’re clearly very interested, I’d like to hear why.” 

Stamets casts a quick glance at the clock. 

“I have an hour about before the staff meeting. Come down to the garden with me and I’ll show you.” 

Hugh feels like he’s been caught in a whirlwind. Paul, it feels far too formal to call him Stamets now though they’ve only known each other a little over 40 minutes, has been talking for almost all that time. Since they reached his garden, which is filled with all manners of mushrooms, he has barely been quiet for a second. When Hugh had asked him to tell him about them, he had not expected such an impassionate lecture. But Paul’s passion is contagious and though the field of the speech, mushrooms, is unfamiliar to him, he gets caught up in it. Not that he minds. 

Paul is telling Hugh about a species that originates on a small asteroid field in the Ulian Nebula in the Gamma Quardrant when Hugh casually glances at the clock on the wall, startling at how much time has passed. 

“I think we’d better cut off here,” he says. 

Paul looks up at him from the small clusters of blue mushrooms. 

“Ah yes. I’m sorry, I always talk too much once I start.” 

“Not at all. I’d love to hear more, but if you want to make it to your meeting on time, I think you’d better leave.” 

Surprised Paul glances at the clock too. 

"Thank you for reminding me. I didn’t realize it was this late.” 

Hugh smiles. 

“Time did fly. Maybe we could pick up the conversation again later? Or maybe tomorrow?” 

“Lunch? Tomorrow?” Paul suggests. 

“I’d like that.” 

“The Replimat?” 

“What about something different? Like that Klingon restaurant you mentioned?” 

Paul pulls a face and Hugh laughs. 

“Okay, maybe not. Where else?” 

“Klingon is fine. As long as he doesn’t start singing opera.” 

“Klingon it is.” 

That night Hugh can’t settle down to sleep. Try as he might he can’t seem to relax enough to drift off. After an hour of tossing and turning he decides it’s no use and gets back up. Putting on a robe he goes to the living room and settles down on the sofa with his padd and tries to read, but he had as little luck with that as with sleeping. His mind refuses to focus, his thoughts churning. 

It wasn’t like much more had happened today than on any other day since he woke up, but maybe his mind has reached its limit of impressions. And then there’s Paul. Hugh has talked to plenty of people on board DS9 but his conversation with Paul had been the longest he’d had with any one person. And the nicest even if they’d only talked shop, Paul’s shop. Hugh is genuinely looking forward to seeing him again tomorrow, maybe they can get into something more than just mushrooms. 

Is that what’s bothering him? His... well not date date, but appointment with Paul tomorrow? Why would it? There’s nothing to dread about it, just the two of them having lunch and if he should run out of things to talk about it is clear Paul has plenty to say of his own. So why is he so agitated? 

It’s not like he has anyone else. 

Or maybe he does? Maybe there is someone, or several someones, out there waiting for him, worrying about him? Friends, family, partner? 

Abruptly the weight of not know anything at all settles heavily on him. How can he be here having fun, relaxing, dating? When people out there might be worried sick about him. 

The thoughts and their weight refuses to go away for the rest of the night and Hugh finds no rest. 

The lunch with Paul the next day is not their last, in fact they become part of Hugh’s routine over the next week. They try out the different eating establishments on the Promanade, their lunches filled with discussions mainly about Paul’s projects but also about art, music and history. 

Their time together always feel too short to Hugh and when Paul leaves to get back to work it always leave Hugh feeling even more cut loose and adrift than he otherwise does. 

Early in the morning a week later Hugh makes his way down to the Infirmary right after breakfast. Bashir is sitting behind his desk reading on a padd. He looks up when Hugh steps in. 

“Doctor do you have a moment?” Hugh asks. 

“Of course, Mr Culber. Please, sit down and tell me what I can do for you.” 

Hugh gingerly sits on the edge of the chair that Bashir indicates. 

“I was wondering if you had had any luck in finding out who I am?” 

Bashir’s expression turns serious. 

“If I had I would have contacted you.” 

Hugh nods and sighs. 

“I thought as much, I guess I just hoped.” He runs his hands across his face. “It’s just, it’s getting harder not knowing.” 

“Who you are?” Bashir prompts. 

“Not so much that but if there’s people out there worried about me? Do I have a spouse? Children? Parents? What about friends and colleagues?” 

“You’re worried that other people are worried about you?” 

“Yes. And commitments. Am I a doctor? Do I have patients? I know logically that you can’t magic up my identity but the uncertainty, the lack of _knowing_ , I’m not sure how much longer I can deal with that.” 

Bashir nods slowly. 

“Sounds like issues somatic medicine can’t handle and therefore a bit beyond my ability. Starfleet have yet to assign a therapist to the station but I know there’s a civilian on board who practices. A Bajoran by the name Nesel Vyla. I could give you his contact information and set up an appointment.” 

“Perhaps that would be a good idea.” 

“Is something wrong?” Paul asks him at lunch. “You seem a little distant.” 

“It’s nothing.” 

Paul puts down his fork. 

“You can talk to me you know. I know I often end up doing most of the talking, sometimes I wish you would say something.” 

"Can we just leave it?” Hugh says curtly. 

“If that’s what you want.” 

“It is.” 

They continue the meal in strained silence. One they’re done Paul says, “We could get a pair ofjumja sticks and go up to the walkway and watch the stars?” 

“I thought you had to get back to work?” 

“I have some free time and I’d like to spend it with you. Get to know you a little better on a personal level.” 

Hugh looks at him. Paul’s eyes are so blue, but also warm and welcoming, that uncertain, little smile of his that strikes a chord in Hugh’s heart. 

“I- I’m sorry. I can’t. I have to go.” 

Hugh grabs his coat and rushes away from the café. 

He doesn’t know how he makes his way back to his living quarters but when Hugh next becomes aware of his surroundings that’s where he finds himself. He’s shaking slightly and he can’t get the look in Paul’s eyes when Hugh had gotten up and run away out of his head. He had looked as if Hugh had hit him. 

He stumbles over to the couch and slumps down on it. 

Why had he said that? Why had it felt like stay even one more moment with Paul might be a betrayal? He doesn’t even know if there’s someone out there waiting for him, he could be all alone in the universe for that matter and all his words had done was hurt Paul. 

His gaze falls on the padd that he had left on the coffee table when he had gone for lunch. He hadn’t contacted Nesel but maybe he should. Immediately. 

He picks up the padd only to put it straight back down. What would he even say? I’ve lost my memory and I’ve no idea how to deal with not knowing who I am? That’s the heart of it, isn’t it? 

But to say it out loud? Put it down in writing? It’s not so easy. 

It takes Hugh hours, multiple attempts and a lot of pacing to before he has a message he finds acceptable. Determinedly he hits send before he can get cold feet or agonize any more over it. 

His evening is restless and so is his night, and the next morning he feels drained and exhausted after yet another night of very little sleep. 

There’s no return message from Nelen. Maybe he should contact Bashir again for something to help him sleep. Chronic insomnia is not helping his mood or his mental state. 

He thinks about contacting Paul to apologize for his behavior the day before, but he isn’t sure what to say to him. Right now, he isn’t sure he wants to see him again. Yesterday had raised too many too complicated feelings in him. 

After he has gone through his usual morning routine and eaten breakfast, he still hasn’t gotten a clearer idea of what to do next and his brain feels too scattered and disorganized for any kind of reading. Hopelessly he slumps down on the sofa, staring vacantly into the room. 

He’s equally thankful and annoyed when the doorbell interrupts his fugue. He manages to get to his feet, as he crosses to the door he just hopes that it isn’t Paul outside. 

It isn’t. Instead it’s an elderly Bajoran man, dressed in russet colors, his shoulder length hair gone gray. 

“My name is Nesel Vyla. I believe you have contacted me?” 

“Ah, yes. Um, please come in.” 

Surprised Hugh steps aside, letting Nesel pass. 

“I know this is a bit unorthodox and we can talk in my office or in a third location if you prefer, but I wanted an, shall we say, unofficial meeting with you first.” 

“To see if we fit? As therapist and patient?” 

“In a manner of speaking yes. May I?” Nesel gesture to the couch. 

“Yes.” 

Nesel sits down at one end of it and Hugh at the other. 

“There is perhaps an added complication.” 

“In what way?” Hugh asks. 

“Most non-Bajorans don’t understand, or doesn’t accept, how Bajorans see what you call the wormhole, to us The Celestial Temple.” 

“As I understand it you view it as sacred. As the place your... gods live.” 

“The Prophets aren’t quite gods to us, but I guess it’s the closest we can get in Federation standard.” 

“If they’re not gods, how do you view them?” 

“As older, wiser beings, trying to guide us as we grow. Who gives us warnings and advice.” 

“Why would they do that?” 

“Why wouldn’t they?” 

“Touché” 

“But this leads me to my question. Considering your connection with the wormhole I was wondering if you’d be comfortable with a Bajoran therapist.” 

“I guess how that connection make you view me.” 

“As a mystery and possibly significant in some way we do not yet know. But more importantly, going by the message you sent me, a person who is greatly in need of help at this moment, whatever else he is.” 

“Then I think we can get on.” 

“Good. I have some times available at the end of the week, I’ll contact you with the options.” 

“Dr. Nesel, I have nothing but time.” 

“Mr. I’m a therapist, not a psychiatrist.” 

“Mr. I’m a bit surprised that there are times available so soon. I thought, well with everything Bajor had been through you’d be more in demand.” 

“Perhaps I would if I lived on Bajor itself, but right now there aren’t many Bajorans on board the station.” 

“Can I ask why not?” 

“As a beginning the station holds bad memories for my people. It isn’t a Bajor structure but a Cardassian one. It was built by our oppressors. And then there are its current caretakers. Many of my people have, shall we say their doubts about the Federation and Starfleet. We only just got rid of one occupation, many fears that Bajor’s application to join the Federation might lead to another.” 

“By the Federation?” 

“Yes.” 

“That isn’t the Federation’s usual method of operating.” 

“I know. Logically so do many of my people, though the Federation can be somewhat inflexible at times. But you must understand, half a century of occupation leaves deep wounds that do not heal overnight. In this case one of the wounds is a deep suspicion of outside powers and their motives. Hopefully my people will heal, but that like all healing will take time, resources and a network. Time will see to itself, of resources we have some but many others we still lack. And as for network?” 

“And it is your hope that the Federation can help supply these things?” 

“Yes. Ideally. Whether it’ll happen is also a question only time can provide the answer for. But healing is the same, whether for a people or for a single person. Like you. Time will do something on its own and nothing can speed or slow it. As for the other two it appears you’re already looking for resources with coming to me. That leaves the last, network. I understand you arrived alone, have you made any acquaintances or connections on the station?” 

Hugh’s thoughts immediately flash to Paul. 

“Some. Though, it hasn’t gone that well.” 

“Why not?” 

“Communications problems? I’m not sure. It just- I feel like I’m in a limbo. Locked away from everyone? What if I have people out there waiting for me to come back? How can I connect to anyone here always wondering if I’d be... betraying someone else?” 

“Would you? Would they not be happy that you’ve met more people?” 

“I guess it depends what kind of connection we have I suppose.” 

“Mmmm. And yet you cannot make it through this alone, nor do anyone know how long it might be before your identity is discovered.” 

“So what do you suggest?” 

“You will need a network, but how you go about it and whom you choose? That I cannot tell you.” Nesel chuckles softly. “I apologize, I only intended this as a casual conversation to see what you needed and if we matched.” 

“No, thank you for taking the time to talk to me.” 

They stand and shake hands. 

“I will send you those appointment times,” Nesel says. “And perhaps you should do something about your abundance of time until we speak again?” 

“I’ll try,” Hugh respons. 

After Nesel has left Hugh’s quarters once more feels dim and dismal. He doesn’t want to stay here, but he isn’t sure where to go. It’s almost the time where he’d ordinarily have lunch with Paul but he doubts Paul would do that today, he’s heard nothing from him and after yesterday Hugh can’t blame him. 

He owes him if not an apology, then an explanation. Perhaps that relationship is not yet lost to him, though Hugh isn’t sure he wants to continue it or how. 

Butterflies fluttering in his belly Hugh quickly picks up his padd and sends off a message to Paul asking him if they can talk, less than five minutes later the communications screen beep and Hugh quickly answers. 

“Hugh,” Paul says. 

His hair is tousled and there are dark shadows under his eyes. 

“Are you alright?” Hugh asks. 

“I’m fine,” Paul answers curtly. “You wanted something?” 

“Yes. I wanted to explain about yesterday.” 

“Nothing to explain, I read you wrong. I’m sorry.” 

“No. No you didn’t. I think that, well, I might have sent off those signals. I think you read me right.” 

“Then why did you say that? Run off like that?” 

Hugh fiddles his fingers in front of him. 

“Because, Paul, when I tolf you I don’t remember _anything_ I mean that. Nothing at all. Paul there could be people out there waiting for me. Someone, someone I’d made promises to. Promises I can’t betray, even if I can’t remember them right now.” 

His shoulders slump. 

“If I knew I was free, I would have said yes. I’m sorry Paul.” 

Paul’s face have grown soft and a tension Hugh hadn’t realized was there has drained out of him. 

“No. I understand,” Paul says. “I wasn’t thinking about that. I’m sorry too.” 

Hugh nods. 

“Where does this leave us?” Paul asks. 

“I don’t know. I- I guess I'd like to continue our lunches,” Hugh replies. 

“In spite of...?” 

“Yes. Now that we both know where we stand. But I understand if you don’t.” 

Paul falls silent, looking down beyond the frame of the screen. Hugh is just about to tell him that if he needs time to decide that’s fine, when Paul looks back up again. 

“No, I’d like to,” Paul says. “I can't today, too many things booked for the afternoon, but tomorrow? At the Replimat?” 

“I’d love to. Same time as usual?” 

Paul nods, wearing that small, shy smile of his. 

“See you then,” he says. 

After the call is done Hugh feels drained in ways he hadn’t thought possible, but also very hungry. Even though he has no appointment with anyone he decides to stick to his usual routine and leaves for the Promenade to eat an early lunch there. 

He saunters along the circular corridor, casually looking at the shops lined along it, pondering what he’d like to eat when he spots lieutenant Dax at the Bajoran restaurant. On a whim he walks in. 

“Lieutenant?” 

She looks up at him from the padd she’s reading on, head tilting questioningly to one side. 

“Is this seat taken?” 

“Not that I can see.” 

“Would you mind if I used it?” 

“Not at all. Though I thought you usually had lunch with Paul.” 

“I do, but he’s busy today.” 

“That’s all?” 

Maybe he’s imagining it but it sounds like there’s a sharp note in her voice, it doesn’t take much for him to figure out why that might be. 

“We did have a bit of an argument I guess you can call it, yesterday. But we’ve patched things up.” 

“Good.” 

“What are you reading?” Hugh asks after having given his order and received his food. 

“It’s an analysis of how endocrine enzymes are affected by tetryon radiation. It’s a bit dated, but interesting.” 

“I believe that extreme exposure accelerates the human metabolism by several factors. But Andorians for some reason appear immune to the effect even when radiation is severe enough to cause other effect.” 

“Yes. This study focuses on why the Andorians react different than human, Vulcans and Tellarites. It came out fifty years ago and no one has touched the subject sense though the research’s findings were inconclusive.” 

“Can I read it? When you’re done with it, I mean?” 

“I can send you over a copy later.” 

“I’d much appreciate it.” 

Hugh’s food arrives and for a while they eat in silence. 

“Does medicine interest you?” Dax asks. 

“I seem to have prior knowledge. I guess part of me is hoping that if I keep reading it’ll trigger some memory or other. And yes, it does interest me.” 

“I can send you some other more recent articles I’ve found interesting too if you want.” 

“I’d like that.” 

“I will. And I won’t tell Julian, he believes you should have complete rest but you look like the type of person who’d go spare from that.” 

“I believe you might be right about that.” 

“I have to rush, I’m back on duty,” Dax says. “But it was nice talking to you. Maybe we could do it again tomorrow?” 

“Tomorrow I promised to eat with Paul.” 

“The day after tomorrow? We could make it a three person appointment if you want Paul along?” 

“I’ll ask him. Otherwise it’d be just you and me then.” 

“Then I’ll see you then.” 

And with that she’s gone. 

Hugh’s watches as she walks briskly down the corridor of the Promenade. 

Perhaps Dax too could be a friend? His interactions with her, while brief, had been amicable and he thinks he could like her if he got to know her better. Hopefully she’d like him too. He doesn’t want to give up Paul, complicated and fraught as that relationship have become, but he can have more than one friend and a network are made up by more than a single thread. 

Perhaps he can navigate his way out of these troubled waters yet and make it to safer shores, even without knowing who he is? 


End file.
